


Growing Pains

by Susana Rosa (SusanaR)



Series: Desperate Hours Alternative Universe (DH AU) D version [13]
Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Gen, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-20
Updated: 2011-07-20
Packaged: 2017-10-21 14:10:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanaR/pseuds/Susana%20Rosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Imrazor misses Numenor and his family, even though Elendil's family has been nothing but kind to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story follows/is roughly contemporaneous with the first chapter of Tales of Numenor's Last Gleaming and the later chapters that will be posted in time.
> 
> Thanks to Beth, FC, and Kaylee, who read versions of this story and gave me helpful comments.
> 
> A/N: In 3320, Elendil and his sons Isildur and Anarion established the realms of Arnor and Gondor. Isildur's sons were Elendur (21 in 3320) and Aratan, Ciryon, and Valandil (all born later). This fic is set in or about the year 3327 of the Second Age.

Second Age 3327, Outside Osgiliath

 

The Anduin flowed by, untroubled by the muffled sobs of the young man perched dangerously high on the branch of an evergreen. Sometimes Imrazor wished that he could be a river, with no pain. And today he missed a different river.

For the Anduin was beautiful, but it wasn't the Siril or the Nunduine in lost Numenor. But if one just focused on the flow of the water, one could pretend for a moment that it was. Pretend that great-grandma Inzilbeth would be calling him in for dinner soon, and that Mama would soon be scolding him for wasting the day, just watching the water flow by.

The nineteen year old shifted uncomfortably against the rough bark of the tree. He would turn twenty today, but no one knew. Twenty years ago, at midnight, he had been born in the palace of the King of Numenor. Unfortunately, Ar-Pharazon had been that King. But the palace had been the one that Elros Tar-Minyatur had built long ago, long before the Numenoreans turned from their alliance with the elves, to the worship of Morgoth, dared the forbidden, and died.

Now, no one who had been present at his birth still lived. Imrazor's parents, his grandparents, his great-grandparents, his siblings, his aunts and uncles, his first cousins, they were all dead. All drowned beneath the wave when Numenor sank, or worse, undead beside Ar-Pharazon, having hoped beyond hope that they could convince the King to turn away from his folly.

Imrazor laid one cheek against the tree's rough bark. He had awoken this day in a foul mood, and then had brawled with Elendur on the practice fields this morning. Elendur was his foster-brother Isildur's only son, 27 years old and Imrazor's closest friend. Elendur had just been teasing, as he always did. He had noted the normally cheerful Imrazor's somber expression, occasional angry frowns, and slow footwork. Elendur had been a little bit too enthusiastic for his foster-uncle's taste in speculating as to how Imrazor must have spent the prior evening. Elendur's guesses had run to women and wine, to the appreciative, although not unkind, laughter of Imrazor's foster brother Anarion and his men. Elendur might have been jealous, thinking Imrazor had gone sneaking out to have fun without him. Imrazor's sleepless night had actually been spent in nightmarish imagining of his family members' probable fates, mixed in with wistful day-dreams of what it might have been like, to have come of age with his parents and grandparents and sisters looking on.

So Imrazor had punched Elendur, who had responded in kind, and the two had brawled for a few minutes until Anarion and his men pulled them apart. Then both Imrazor and Elendur had been taken to Anarion's study, where Anarion had paddled his foster-brother and nephew soundly for such undignified, childish behavior. Which accounted for Imrazor's physical discomfort, but not his tears. The paddling had been thorough but not cruel. Anarion was never cruel, nor was Isildur, nor their father Elendil. Anarion had treated Imrazor as if Imrazor was his much younger brother or another nephew, as he always did. Imrazor and Elendur had both apologized for the fight, and Anarion had embraced both penitent youths. Imrazor wasn't angry at Anarion or Elendur, not really.

Anarion had also grounded Elendur to the King's House and the Great Hall at Osgiliath for the day, and Imrazor as well. But Imrazor had not actually promised Anarion not to leave the grounds, and Elendil's family thought him to be 23. And 23 was too old to be grounded. So was 27, he supposed, but Elendur was Anarion's nephew, not just a distant cousin. Normally Imrazor would have obeyed Anarion, why cause trouble over something so small? But today Imrazor had needed to see the ocean, or failing that, at least the river. He had wanted, needed, to be somewhere quiet, where he could pretend he was watching a different river. Pretend he was not the only member of his family who had survived the fall of Numenor, at least for a little while. Some time to mourn in private.

Most days, Imrazor was glad Elendil and his sons had kidnapped him, had refused to let Imrazor find his own death by going back to his family and risking Ar-Pharazon's wrath. But today, today when he truly came of age, Imrazor needed to be alone. No matter what Anarion had told him. Imrazor hadn't promised, after all. He had just acknowledged that Anarion had told him to stay on the grounds; he had not promised Anarion that he would. Not that Anarion would see it that way. Imrazor tossed some bark into the water, watching it swirl and eddy away. The teenager hadn't entirely given up on the idea of sneaking back into his room before he was missed. Elendil and Isildur were due back from Arnor today or tomorrow, so things were a bit unsettled at Osgiliath. There was also to be a formal dinner tonight in honor of the harvest, and Imrazor had told Elendur he was planning to nap through the afternoon. It could be another hour or so before he was missed.

Imrazor had purposely not promised to stay put, then had waited until after he was alone in his room in the King's House to slip out of his window, and then out of Osgiliath. Imrazo had walked into the forest, and down along the river, until he found a place where he could be truly alone. Alone where no one else could see him cry. 23 years old, or even almost 20, for that matter, was too old to cry. Too old to waste time stupidly wishing he had died with his family. Stupid. Great Grandma Inzilbeth would not have wanted that, nor his Papa, or his Mama. They would have been glad that Imrazor had survived, would have been relieved that Elendil had fostered their troublesome, stubborn son. Mama especially would have been pleased that Imrazor had found a place among the Faithful, even if Imrazor still sometimes doubted he deserved his life, or the honored position within the royal family that Elendil had granted him.

Imrazor heard his name being called, and turned to look. Liveried guards, Anarion's and Isildur's men. He had been missed. Imrazor stifled his sobs. He did not want to be found, not yet. Nor really ever, but he couldn't live in this tree. He would have to go back to Osgiliath, but not just yet. Another hour or so wouldn't make the consequences awaiting him much worse, and he was not ready to see his foster-family yet. Not ready to be grateful, as he should be, as he normally was, that they had taken him in. Anarion would be angry, and so would Isildur and Elendil, when they arrived from Annuminas and Rivendell in the next few days. Anarion would be angry that Imrazor had disobeyed him, and more angry that Imrazor had worried him by disappearing, particularly when Imrazor had been in such poor spirits. But Imrazor did not fear Anarion's anger, or Isildur's or Elendil's. They would be angry, but they loved him. Imrazor wouldn't enjoy the consequences of this disappearing act, particularly not on top of his idiotic brawl with Elendur this morning, but no one would really hurt him.

More voices, some very familiar. Oh no, seven year old Meneldil had been allowed out to help search. Imrazor pressed himself against the tree, and thought quiet, peaceful, tree-like thoughts. Anarion's youngest son could almost always find him. But the meditation seemed to work. Meneldil's worried calls came near, but not near enough. The tree Imrazor had climbed was itself perched out on a dangerous bluff, one the river had eroded the ground partially out from under. No one would think to look for him here, probably. Though if they did, Imrazor would be in very deep trouble. Anarion might even refuse to let him go to sea with Elendil's cousin Captain Arciryas in the spring, as had been planned. Imrazor didn't THINK Anarion would do such a thing, or that Elendil would let him, but it was possible. Imrazor wanted to be a sailor as well as a soldier, he had ever since the voyage from Numenor. But if his foster family felt he was too reckless, he might find that dream deferred for a few more years, until his foster-father and brothers felt he had acquired enough "maturity." But right now, not even that was enough to get him to come down from this tree.

"Imrazor!" Oh, Eru. THAT was Anarion. And he was NOT happy. Imrazor frowned as he rubbed his sore posterior. "Imrazor, titta hanonya, where are you?" Anarion called again, worry superseding anger in the timbre of his deep voice. Imrazor winced. For Anarion to be calling him "my little brother" in Quenya, Anarion must really be concerned.

"Imrazor, you idiot! Where are you?" Imazor sighed. THAT was Elendur. If Anarion had let his "overly-indulged nephew" off of a punishment early to help search for Imrazor, they must truly be intent on finding him. But Imrazor still did not want to be found. Oh, he knew that if his foster-family knew it was his real birthday, let alone this important, coming-of-age birthday, they would be sympathetic, and probably manage to jolly him into celebrating, at least a little. But Imrazor's foster-family had no idea when his real birthday was; when first Anarion had asked, not long after they had landed in Gondor, Imrazor had told him that he didn't have one. Anarion had been skeptical, but it hadn't seemed to be worth arguing about, at that hectic time. Later on, Imrazor had told his foster-family that it was his birthday whenever he wanted something.

To be fair, if what he wanted was something reasonable, or something he had earned by good behavior or hard work, he probably would have gotten it, "birthday" or no. Elendil and his sons were no fools; they knew that Imrazor couldn't have more than one birthday a year. But Imrazor had found it difficult to ask for anything, at first, so they had usually given him whatever "birthday present" he asked for, or explained why they wouldn't, at least. Imrazor knew that his foster-family loved him. They were proud of him when he succeeded, and offered him support, guidance, and everything else a growing youth required. In time, Imrazor's birthday had become a family joke, of sorts. Whenever Meneldil wanted cake, he said they should all have cake because it was Imrazor's birthday. When Anarion's oldest daughter Inkeri had wanted to have an additional dance before the end of the season, it had been "Imrazor's birthday," again. Elendur wanted to sponsor an archery contest, so it was in honor of Imrazor's birthday. His brothers and father had never stopped gently asking when his real birthday was...someday, Imrazor might be ready to tell them.

"Imrazor, if you've run off over my teasing you this morning, I am going to POUND you!" Elendur called angrily. Imrazor winced. Elendur was getting dangerously close to his tree.

"Hush, nephew." Anarion chided Elendur. "If that is why Imrazor has run off, which I doubt, threatening to beat him isn't going to inspire him to come home earlier. Now come away from there, the ground is unsafe."

Imrazor shrank against the tree again. There was NO way he was coming down now. If Anarion saw him come down from THIS tree, on THIS bluff, Anarion might very well sit down on THAT tree stump right over there, yank Imrazor over his knee, and spank his younger foster-brother on the bare, as if Imrazor was a small child, and despite the probable audience of relieved and amused searchers. When Anarion was mad, sometimes he forgot that Imrazor was an adult.

Dusk was falling, and the wind was picking up. The voices died down, or moved further up river. Anarion and his children would be required for dinner in the great hall soon. Imrazor relaxed, and his tears started again. Pine needles lashed his face and the first rain drops mixed with the chilled tears on his cheeks. A storm was coming up the river. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Imrazor's tree groaned in the rising wind. Another storm could be the end of this branch, this tree, of the whole bluff. But Imrazor couldn't bring himself to care, just now. The approaching storm made the air smell good, clean, and the noise of the wind through the trees loosened something inside him, and he started to sob more freely. The tree had outlasted other storms; if the Valar willed, it and Imrazor would last through this one, too.


	2. Chapter 2

Imrazor was crying so hard, and the wind making so much noise, that Imrazor didn't notice he was no longer alone in his tree until Isildur appeared literally in front of him. So startled was Imrazor that he would have fallen, had not Isildur anticipated his surprise, and reached out with a strong hand to grasp Imrazor's shoulder, holding his younger foster-brother in place.

Isildur's face was more worried than angry, but that wasn't a great comfort to Imrazor just now. "Don't...take this... the wrong...way." Imrazor hiccuped. "But you are the third to last person I want to see just now."

That got a smile and a slight chuckle from Elendil's oldest son. "Well, Anarion must be the last. I suppose that would make Atar the next-to-last?"Isildur guessed.

Imrazor nodded, wiping tears from his eyes as he tried to calm himself. He didn't need to worry about keeping his grip; Isildur hadn't let go of his shoulder.

"Anarion's not happy with you, either." Isildur commented gently. "But he didn't think to look for you here, lucky for you."

Imrazor nodded again. That had been lucky. "Why did you?' He asked his eldest foster-brother, beginning to calm down a bit.

"It was the highest climbable tree with a good view of the water." Isildur replied. "But I had to wait until everyone else went in for dinner. I figured you would have come down earlier, if you wanted company."

"I'm sorry I hit Elendur." Imrazor offered, truly feeling repentant for that.

Isildur snorted. "Elendur should learn that not every bear needs baiting. Besides, you and he are about of a size, and neither of you was really trying to harm the other. Had it been me instead of my little brother overseeing morning practice, I would have just tossed you both into the river, rather than paddling you for brawling."

Imrazor squeaked in surprise, then blushed as he protested. "But we were wearing armor!"

Isildur grinned. "I know. It would have been good practice in how to get get out of armor quickly."

Imrazor gave his big brother a wary look. Isildur could be hard to predict, at times. It made him a good strategician, but at times a difficult commander.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, titta hanonya." Isildur chided. "I would have thrown you in the shallows, where both of you idiots could have been easily retrieved before you had a chance to drown. I would never want anything to happen to my favorite foster-brother, or my only son. Now, tell me, what has prompted you to seek your death in a tree this afternoon? Surely not Elendur's taunts, or Anarion's paddle."

"No." Imrazor agreed, looking into the river again. "Its...I'm being stupid. I know I am, but I can't seem to help it. I'm sorry for...all the trouble."

Isildur's insightful, measuring glance never left Imrazor's face. "I'm sure that you are. You've always been trouble, but you're worth all of it. So, share whatever it is, that I may help, if I can."

Imrazor shook his head, trying to think of a distraction. "Shouldn't we get out of this tree?' He asked.

Isildur shook his head. "Not until you tell me what's going through your head, little eel."

Imrazor made a face at the nick name Isildur and Anarion had bestowed on him during the voyage from Numenor to Gondor. He wasn't THAT slippery. But he was not going to have the heart-to-heart conversation Isildur wanted. Not about this. Instead, a distraction.

"But Anarion and Atar will be angry." Imrazor complained. He'd rather get out of the tree, even if it meant being marched into the great hall in disgrace, than tell Isildur of his thoughts.

Isildur just laughed. "NOW you care what Anarion thinks?"

Imrazor settled back against the trunk of the tree with an annoyed huff, and glared at his eldest brother. Isildur would have to cave before Imrazor did; he was older, more responsible, and it was entirely too dangerous for them to still to be in this tree when the storm hit in earnest. All Imrazor had to do was wait, and he could get out of this conversation with a sore bum but an unprobed psyche.

"You forget, Imrazor." Isildur said gently, "that I am not the responsible brother who declared this bluff off limits; I am the reckless idiot who climbed the white tree to steal a fruit on a dare."

Oh. That was right. Isildur was Imrazor's responsible big brother, Elendil's capable heir, but he was also THAT idiot. It had been Imrazor's own father and uncle who had distracted the guards long enough for Isildur to escape, and Isildur had still been badly injured. It had taken Elendil's best healers and Elendil himself hours of working on Isildur, to save his leg. Then nearly a month of bed-rest, and a year for Isildur to re-learn how to walk. If Isildur hadn't been Elendil's stubbornest as well as craziest son, he would never have walked again, let alone remained warrior and war-leader. Or so Imrazor had heard from Anarion, and Elendil's men. Isildur didn't talk about the incident much, nor did Elendil.

Imrazor blinked back tears again. Forgetting such an important bit of the past history of someone in Ar-Pharazon's court would have earned him a punishment from his own father. Not because Imrazor's papa hadn't loved him; on the contrary, because he had. None of the secret Faithful hidden amongst the King's men could have afforded such a slip. It was ...strange, not to have to worry about such things anymore. And lonely, to be one of only a handful of survivors who even remembered those rules. Imrazor choked back his tears and looked at his brother in disgust. "Why can't you ever be what I expect when I am being a brat?" Imrazor asked Isildur.

Isildur chuckled again as lightning flashed. "Just part of my charm, I suppose. So?"

Imrazor sighed. "I lied to you."

Isildur gave him a shrewd look. "About what? We know that you and Elendur weren't in that particularly disreputable tavern looking for Arciryas, last Yuletide."

Imrazor shook his head sadly. "No, about my age. I was thirteen, not sixteen. When we left Numenor, I mean."

Isildur nodded solemnly, though he did not look surprised. "Oh, THAT. We figured that you were lying, Imrazor. Either that, or you were the world's smallest sixteen year old. No one will be particularly angry about that. At least not compared to THIS." Isildur's gesture took in the tree and the storm.

Imrazor winced. "I should have died. I'll be twenty tonight, at mid-night." Imrazor's tears started falling again, and he couldn't stop the heaving sobs from returning as well. He was shamed by this reaction; shamed to have Isildur see it, or anyone. Shamed to be acting such a fool, for he knew better, but he couldn't stop himself from spilling out all of his bitter, angry, miserable thoughts. "No one ....is still alive...who remembers my birthday. ...no one...remembers my first word...no one...should have DIED.."

"Ai, titta hanonya," Isildur said softly, wrapping himself around the shuddering Imrazor as he pulled the teen into his lap, and took Imrazor's place against the tree trunk. "Shh, shh, little eel, no one blames you for grieving. We're going to have several long talks about your choice of where to do so, but no one blames you. We love you, we're glad we kept you from leaving us, kept you from dying. It was not easy; you tried very hard to go back to Numenor. It will be alright, dear one. Shh."

Isildur kept up a string of soothing words for what felt like a long time, as Imrazor sobbed into his oldest foster-brother's shoulder. "There's no shame in grieving for your family, Imrazor." He heard Isildur assure him at one point, when he was ashamed out of his outburst and trying to get himself under control. "I would never think less of you for that. You should talk to Atto, he knew some of your family well, and I know he misses them, too."

Imrazor nodded in response, and had managed to stop crying. He actually felt a bit bitter than he had, since last night's ill dreams. And Isildur seemed in no hurry to let go of him, even though the storm was growing closer. "We should get going." Imrazor murmured.

"Take a moment to catch your breath, little brother." Isildur replied gently. "Time enough to face the storm."

"Best to start down before it stops dripping and starts pouring." Imrazor disagreed.

"Oh, probably yes." Isildur agreed with a crooked grin. "I meant Atto."

Imrazor groaned, and collapsed back against his brother. "I am in such trouble." Imrazor moaned.

Isildur patted his back reassuringly. There was really nothing to say to that; Imrazor was. Though the circumstances would help, at least a bit.

Just then an authoritative but very worried voice called out from down below. "What IS it with you two fools and trees, my sons?" The speaker was Elendil, Isildur's father, King of Gondor and Arnor, called the King of Men. And he did not look happy.


End file.
